


A Weighty Hookup

by redpenny



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Body Positive, Body Worship, Chubby Derek Hale, Chubby Kink, Chubby Stiles Stilinski, Good Boyfriend Derek Hale, Insecure Stiles Stilinski, Kink Discovery, M/M, Praise Kink, Weight Gain, body image issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:41:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26345782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redpenny/pseuds/redpenny
Summary: Stiles's own pic appears to be cropped from a photo of him and his ex. It's over a year old and pre-double-chin era. He wonders if drunk!Stiles was trying to catfish this guy, but then begins to read the chat log and, no.It's worse.Much worse.> Hey dude! Thoughts on a no-strings-attached hookup where a little belly and stretch marks aren't a big deal?>> What?— — — — —Stiles has gained weight — a lot of it — and decides the way out of his year-long dry spell is to hook up with a guy who knows what it's like to have a few extra pounds.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 34
Kudos: 178





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Stiles works through some body image issues, and this might be the least failwolf Derek I've ever written.
> 
> It'll be a few chapters.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

Stiles wakes up to a headache and a notification from a dating app he doesn't remember signing up for.

>> **Go to sleep**  
>> **If you're still interested, text me in the morning**

Still interested in... what?

What the hell did drunk!Stiles get into this time?

Hungover!Stiles rubs his eyes against the morning sunlight as he waits for the coffee to brew. Then he scrolls, bleary-eyed, to the top of a long chat log with some guy named @halewolf. His profile pic is all sunglasses and stubble.

Stiles's own pic appears to be cropped from a photo of him and his ex. It's over a year old and pre-double-chin era. He wonders if drunk!Stiles was trying to catfish this guy, but then begins to read the chat log and, no.

It's worse. 

Much worse.

> _Hey dude! Thoughts on a no-strings-attached hookup where a little belly and stretch marks aren't a big deal?_

>> **What?**

Yes, indeed. What. The. Fuck.

>> **Are you serious?**

> _I'm always serious_

The word 'serious' has some misplaced vowels. But that's clearly the least of Stiles's problems.

> _Think about it. Being with another guy with a little junk in the trunk? Who's not going to be offended by a pair of moobs and a couple fat rolls? Sounds nice, right?_

No, no, no. Please tell him drunk!Stiles did not send this to a real-life person.

Stiles dumps the coffee into a mug, and then adds enough cream so it won't burn his throat when he gulps it all down in one swig.

Then he sighs and grabs his phone and a second cup. He plops himself down into the kitchen chair.

It creaks. He winces. He should probably be more careful unless he wants it to go the way of its recently broken counterpart. Five-dollar Ikea chairs aren't rated for whatever he's weighing these days.

When his brain feels a little less fuzzy, he turns back to the phone, hoping that this was just a hungover hallucination.

Stiles hadn't been that drunk. Well, okay, maybe he'd had a few extra beers after Scott and the others had paired off with their significant others — and Malia with the random guy she'd been eyeing across the bar. And maybe his memories of getting home and into bed are a little bit fuzzy.

And, okay, maybe Stiles had been a bit disappointed not to have found his own random guy at the bar. But he'd think he'd have at least some memory of that disappointment turning into harassing random guys on dating apps. It's not like he'd actually gone out last night expecting to end his year-long-and-counting dry spell, after all.

Stiles isn't exactly the type of guy who gets picked up in bars these days. Sometime between the freshman-fifteen-plus-a-few in college, and then the desk job spread that his ex hadn't been thrilled with, he'd passed the stage where his extra pounds could be brushed off as just a "cute little tummy".

And that was before the very generous amount of breakup weight he'd packed on this past year. The weight he's still not used to seeing in the mirror.

He knows he should do something about it. Even if it wasn't interfering with his prospects in the dating department, it's still a _lot_. But work has been busy, and he snacks when he's stressed, and, even if he had the time, he's never been all that inclined to exercise.

So, for now, he's decided he's doing okay as long as he eats a vegetable once in a while and, when he absolutely must take the stairs, they don't give him too much trouble. He has a new wardrobe now, in a comfortable few sizes up, and, even if he's not yet used to being properly fat, the weight's getting more familiar to carry around.

He'd just prefer not to have to wait until he gets his weight back under control to end his dry spell. Maybe it's asking a lot, but he'd like to just get back out there, somehow, without having to feel bad about his new bod.

He just hasn't figured out how to make that happen yet.

Apparently drunk!Stiles thought he found a loophole: hook up with another guy his size.

Stiles can feel his headache coming back and he pours himself another cup of coffee to ward it off. And then he makes himself look back at his phone.

>> **Okay**

> _Okay?_

>> **Sounds nice**

> _What?_

>> **Did you forget why you texted me?**

> _I'm not that drunk_

Drunk!Stiles is definitely that drunk.

Stiles just can't believe his strategy is working on whoever this guy is. He flicks over to the guy's profile.

Only the basic answers are filled out, and there are only a couple photos. There's a larger version of the sunglasses and stubble one. And a second one with sunglasses, stubble and a leather jacket. It shows enough body to make it obvious that he's on the thicker side, but it's hard to tell exactly how thick. @halewolf is listed as overweight, though, and, if he's admitting to that on an online dating site, that means it's more than a few extra pounds.

Despite the poor-quality photos, there is something between the breadth of the guy's shoulders and hint of his features that suggests that @halewolf might be a pretty attractive guy.

Back in the chat log, there's more of drunk!Stiles being, well, drunk. And somehow managing to become even more embarrassing.

> _Wait. Will this even work?_  
> _How does it work with two fat guys? Won't our guts be in the way?_

>> **You don't look that big**

> _How do you know?_  
> _Wait, are you looking at my pics?_  
> _I got fatter since then_

>> **What do you weigh?**

> _Rude much?!?_  
> _You can't just ask a fat guy what he weighs!!!_

Stiles groans and rubs his eyes. He gulps down some more coffee.

>> **It would have to be a lot more weight for it to be an issue**

> _It is a lot more_  
> _Dude, you should see how big my gut got_  
> _I bought 46 pants last week_

Stiles cringes. He doesn't actually know how much he weighs. He was pushing 240 and a size 40 a year ago, but he's not in denial. The number's going to be a lot bigger now.

The chair creaks as Stiles shifts, wrapping a protective arm around his middle. Even if he's not quite used to how far his stomach is spreading into his lap, he's also not in denial about how most of that weight's ended up there. And maybe it's something about the vulnerability of having such a soft underbelly, but he feels oddly protective of his stomach.

Drunk!Stiles could at least have had the decency to point out that the 44's had fit just fine. He'd only bought a size up for comfort. 

He feels a little better, though, when he sees @halewolf's reply:

>> **That's what I wear**  
>> **It won't be a problem**

At least, @halewolf doesn't seem fazed by drunk!Stiles's implication that the size he wears is pretty big.

Or when drunk!Stiles does more than just imply that:

> _Shit. You must be really fat, too_  
> _I've never been with a guy that fat_  
> _Or a fat guy at all_

>> **I couldn't tell**

> _Was that sarcasm?_

Stiles rolls his eyes.

There isn't much else of substance after that in the chat. Drunk!Stiles is clearly starting to doze off and Stiles stares for a long moment at @halewolf's last text:

>> **Go to sleep**  
>> **If you're still interested, text me in the morning**

He thinks about it. @halewolf had not only tolerated drunk!Stiles, but he seemed more amused than offended by him. Which means that there's either something seriously wrong with him or he's Stiles's actual soulmate.

Or both.

Or maybe he's a chatbot.

Still, those are odds Stiles can work with.

They meet three days later.

Stiles sends a longwinded apology on drunk!Stiles's behalf, @halewolf texts back, **It's fine** , and then Stiles proceeds to learn that his name is Derek, he's an architect, and he works downtown, just a few blocks away from Stiles's startup.

Stiles is waiting on a bench in the corner park when he spots sunglasses, stubble and leather jacket approaching in the evening light.

"Derek?" He scrambles up. "Hey. Hi. I'm Stiles."

Derek takes off his sunglasses. "I see that."

He's a bit heavier than his pictures — rounder in the belly and cheeks — but it's an absent observation. He's clearly the kind of guy who would be hot at any weight. From a distance, Stiles could see he was well-built. All broad shoulders and thick thighs and clearly has more than a little muscle under his leather jacket. But up close, he's got mesmerizing eyes and gorgeous features and a rakish stubble over his jawline that wouldn't be out of place in a bodice-ripper — not that Stiles has ever read one of those.

(Shut up, Lydia.)

Stiles is torn between congratulating drunk!Stiles on his taste and berating him for picking a guy so far out of his league.

They might share a pants size, but Stiles is a lot further from his own picture than Derek is. Even after drunk!Stiles's less-than-subtle description of his new bod, he'd worried Derek might think he was being cat-fished after all.

But when Derek looks him over, his gaze is warm, almost appreciative. And doesn't linger on his stomach. It feels nice.

Really nice, actually.

They sit down on the bench and Derek is just as loquacious as he was in his texts, but Stiles has no problem talking. And Derek actually seems interested in his rambling description of the startup he's formed with Danny and their meeting with potential investors the next day. When Derek does talk, he's clever and sarcastic and has a wickedly dry sense of humor and, fuck, he might be exactly Stiles's type.

Stiles is supposed to meet Danny back at the office to finish their presentation for tomorrow. He doesn't even realize that the fifteen minutes he'd promised he'd take have passed until he gets a text asking him where the hell he is.

He and Derek stand up and Stiles self-consciously smoothes his shirt over his stomach. 

"So." He hesitates. Neither of them has brought up the circumstances that led to their meeting up tonight. Stiles wonders if he should ask Derek out for an actual date or just invite him back to his place for the no-strings-attached hookup drunk!Stiles had proposed.

He ends up blurting out an invitation to dinner at his place that weekend.

"Okay."

"Okay?" Stiles repeats. "All right. Um..."

They're still standing there. He tries to think of a suave way to go for a hug, but apparently he's reverted to his awkward-around-hot-guys phase. And then his phone beeps again —

And Derek is slipping a hand over Stiles's waist and pressing a light kiss to his lips.

Oh.

The press of round stomach against Stiles's own is a new feeling. It's enough to remind him of why they're both there, but it's less awkward than Stiles would have thought. And Derek acts like it's no big deal to have to lean over both their bellies to reach him.

The kiss only lingers long enough to tease, but Stiles wants more. A lot more. Before he can go for more than is probably appropriate for a public park, though, Derek gives Stiles's side a gentle rub and steps back.

He quirks a smile. "Text me."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles overthinks things. Also, sexy-times.

It's been a while since Stiles hasn't worked through a dinner. Dinners are usually rushed takeout and rolling his eyes while Danny talks about keto and cross-fit. Interspersed occasionally with investors taking them out to restaurants that are too fancy for Stiles's wardrobe -- and that serve plates too small for his appetite.

Dinner tonight, though, consists of normal-sized plates. And maybe a little more food than should strictly be necessary for two people. But Derek doesn't say no to generous extra servings. And he doesn't look at Stiles in askance when Stiles shovels pasta into his mouth in the middle of between whatever stories he happens to be telling.

In fact, Derek actually seems interested in every tangential story. And Stiles tells a lot of them, because that's what he does when he doesn't know what else to say. And he's been a little wired, a little on edge, ever since Derek stepped through his door.

Another glass of wine would have helped, but he isn't letting drunk!Stiles come out to play again anytime soon.

After Derek takes his last bite, Stiles stands up and rubs his hands over his thighs. "Want dessert?"

Derek stands up with him. "Maybe later."

"Later?" Stiles swallows. Derek nods. His light eyes are rather... mesmerizing.

"If that's all right?"

"All right? Yes, later's all right. Definitely all right."

Derek's lips curve up as he steps closer. Stiles's chest thrums with a mix of anticipation and, also... intimidation.

While Stiles had worn a comfortable pair of jeans and a flannel loose enough to hide the flabbier details of his torso, Derek's gray shirt stretches tight over his arms and belly, and his black jeans are practically sinful.

It just emphasizes that, while Derek is probably just as overweight as Stiles is, he isn't a regular fat guy. He's a _hot_ fat guy. He's thick in all the right places and he even carries the hefty belly well. His jawline hasn't softened into a double chin and, despite the hint of fullness in his cheeks, he still somehow has defined cheekbones.

Derek was supposed to have all the flabby embarrassing parts that Stiles does. That was the deal.

He wasn't supposed to look this good.

Shit, he probably doesn't even have stretch marks.

It's not fair, and it's also, well, a bit flustering. Because Derek's hot but he's also big. Really big. And Stiles has never been with a big guy before. He's never even thought about whether he'd be attracted to that or not.

He knows this makes him the asshole here. Especially since he's let himself get this big. But he's intimidated enough by the size of his own body these days. He can't stop noticing how big Derek is.

Especially when Derek steps closer, belly bumping into Stiles's own, and Stiles can see how much space their midsections take up between them. Stiles's belly might be more cushiony than Derek's but, at the moment, they're both a bit rounded out from too much dinner. Not to echo drunk!Stiles's worries, but how is this even going to work?

What if Derek's as intimidated by Stiles's size as Stiles is by Derek's? 

"What are you thinking about?" Derek rubs a hand up his side.

Stiles clamps his mouth shut before he can accidentally blurt out, _So, how does fat sex work?_.

"Do you still want—"

"Yes," Stiles says quickly, because his dick won't forgive him if he doesn't.

Derek smiles against Stiles's lips and he leans in to kiss him. Stiles sighs into it. Nothing can distract him from a mental tangent like a good kiss.

Especially a kiss like this. Hot and tender and not rushed, but clearly intended to lead to more.

Stiles settles his hands over Derek's sides, over his thick love handles. He squeezes them as he deepens the kiss. Stiles can handle a nice pair of love handles. He'll stick to them for now.

Derek flicks on the bedroom light as he reaches for Stiles's crotch, and Stiles is too distracted to object. Especially when Derek pops the button of his jeans open and tugs down the zipper and rubs along the length of his dick and...

Impatient, Stiles rips off his own shirt. He hesitates when it's halfway up his belly, but his year-long dry spell -- plus hot guy in his bedroom -- ends up outweighing how he's not exactly looking his best naked these days.

He tries not to be too self-conscious about his flab jiggling as he gets the rest of his clothes off. But he can't help a wistful regret that drunk!Stiles hadn't chosen a guy with Stiles's jigglier bits.

But then he takes in the sight of Derek undressing. And — okay -- maybe Derek does have some jiggly bits after all. 

Derek's shirt is off, and he's fighting with the button of his too-tight jeans. And, as form-fitting as his clothes were, they'd managed to hide that he's more than just thick.

He's not doing as badly as Stiles, but his muscles are softened with more fat than Stiles had expected. And his chest isn't as toned as Stiles had thought, either. He has more pec than Stiles, but also more soft boob. The fleshy swells rest on the roll of his upper belly when he bends over.

Because, fat rolls. He has those, too.

His ribs are padded with puffy fat and there's even a little jiggle to his thick spare tire. He's not hirsute enough to qualify as a bear, but he has more hair than Stiles trailing down his chest and belly. His belly is as hefty and round as it had looked. But, as he finally pushes off his jeans, there's a doughy wobble to his underbelly.

Derek isn't just a hot fat guy, he's a hot _fat_ guy.

Stiles bites his lip. It should make him feel better about standing here soft-bellied and out of shape. But watching Derek step out of his too-tight jeans, he realizes that he doesn't actually know how to touch another guy's fat.

Drunk!Stiles hadn't considered that wrench in his plan. Getting fat himself doesn't mean he automatically knows how to make another fat guy feel good. And Stiles is suddenly embarrassed just thinking about his hands on Derek's doughy underbelly and soft chest.

Would Derek even want his hands there? Stiles isn't even sure he wants that himself. He's all on-board with sexy-times, but he's still protective of his soft belly and the little buds on his chest.

Maybe it's not even an issue, though. Maybe they're just supposed to ignore each other's more embarrassing bits and pretend they're both in a little better shape.

Yes. That sounds like the more prudent option.

"You look good."

"What?" Startled, Stiles rips his eyes away from Derek's softer bits. Pretending Derek doesn't have them should probably start with not staring at them. Then he blinks, thinking about what Derek just said. "Dude, you don't have to say that."

"Stiles." Derek looks amused. "I think you look _really_ good."

And then, well, apparently they aren't going to pretend they aren't fat, after all. Because Derek's hand is right there on Stiles's stomach.

Stiles doesn't even get a chance to tense, protective of the softness. Because Derek's touch is gentle and unfazed. And actually kind of sweet. He cups the curve of Stiles's stomach like he'd expected it to be in exactly this shape.

And he's looking at the rest of Stiles's body that same way. Like he isn't taken aback by the layers of flab Stiles was hiding under his loose flannel. Like he'd known that drunk!Stiles hadn't been kidding about the rolls and moobs and stretch marks. Like he knew this was the shape Stiles would be in and had already decided that he was okay with it.

"I need you inside me, like, yesterday," Stiles blurts out. Because, apparently, compliments and fat acceptance are what does it for him.

And then it's hard to hold onto the awkwardness when Derek acts like it's not awkward at all.

Like when he squeezes Stiles's fleshy butt, and Stiles wraps chubby thighs around Derek's chubby waist. Derek murmurs, "Just need a little more room here," as he gives Stiles's belly a gentle rub. And Stiles doesn't even realize that what Derek's actually doing is repositioning his belly, not until he feels Derek's own big belly fitting between them like it hadn't before.

And this should be humiliating by any objective standard. Except Derek just says, "You feel so good," and then, "I'm just a little bigger than I used to be." As if it hadn't been Stiles's belly that was the one in the way.

And he doesn't even give Stiles time to overthink it, because it's hard to think about anything else when a hot guy with a very nice dick is about to fuck you.

Then it's all hard thrusts and gentle hands. Thick muscles straining under a sheen of sweat. It's Derek catching his breath and saying, "You feel so good" and "You look so good," -- because he's caught on quick that Stiles likes compliments. And it's Stiles digging his fingers into the flesh of Derek's biceps, his shoulders, his back, hard enough to leave marks.

And Stiles can't remember why he thought their fat would be in the way. It just means that there are so many new places for their bodies to touch. Chubby thighs around chubby waist, chubby belly against chubby belly. He can feel the weight of every thrust everywhere, from different angles all at once.

Fuck, why didn't anyone ever _tell_ Stiles that this was what fat sex was like? He could have been doing this a long, long time ago.

They're too hot and too sweaty to cuddle, but Stiles cuddles up to Derek's side anyways. And Derek just wraps an accommodating arm around him as he catches his breath.

If Stiles had had time to think about it beforehand, he'd have wondered if they'd even be able to fit together like this, with how far his belly is spreading out these days. Hell, a few hours ago, he hadn't been sure their bodies would fit together at all.

But his belly is pliant enough to nestle nicely into Derek's side, and Derek doesn't seem to mind the flab pressing against him. And now Stiles wants to know how many other ways their bodies might fit together.

He rests his head on Derek's shoulder, nicely padded with muscle and softness, and watches his belly rise and fall as Derek catches his breath.

Whenever Stiles lies on his back, his own belly flattens out. At least a little, even these days. But Derek's belly still rounds up, keeping its hefty dimensions. From this angle, it even looks bigger than before.

In the lazy curiosity of the afterglow, Stiles starts to reach out to touch it.

Derek must catch the movement because he gives his big belly a sheepish pat. "Going to need to get in better shape if we keep doing this."

"What? No." Stiles can feel his cheeks flushing furiously and he quickly looks away, snatching his hand back. "It was fine. It was good. The sex. It was really good."

He's more embarrassed than he should be at getting caught about to touch. He just had sex with the guy, after all. But something about Derek being so overweight still makes him flustered.

"You liked it?" Derek shifts, turning to look at him. His eyes are soft.

"And it's not like I'm not right there with you, anyways," Stiles continues. But he doesn't really want to talk about how out of shape he himself is getting, so he changes the subject. "Is it time for dessert yet?"

It's as he's scooping ice cream onto the newly-rewarmed lava cake that Stiles remembers Derek saying, "If we keep doing this." And he bites back a smile.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek is a good ~~boyfriend~~ hookup.

Hooking up with another fat guy is the actual best.

There's more food around, for one. Derek is a meat and potatoes kind of guy, and Stiles is a salt and sugar one. But Derek gets in the habit of eating the snacks Stiles keeps around, and Stiles doesn't exactly sit there and watch Derek take hefty seconds and thirds at dinner without joining in. And it's nice to have someone to share dessert with, so Stiles keeps more of that around, too.

Stiles had already decided to put off thinking about a diet, anyways. Plus, there's another advantage to being with a fat guy: being able to actually share clothes with the guy he's sleeping with. Stiles had always been a size or two too big before.

And, speaking of advantages, did Stiles mention the sex?

Drunk!Stiles had only hoped for a guy who wouldn't judge his new bod for its rolls and jiggle.

But Derek is good with Stiles's body.

Really good.

He looks at Stiles like he thinks he looks good. He gives Stiles's chest attention without making a big deal about the puffy little breast buds. Touches his waist like it's something delicate. Kisses his belly like he shouldn't feel bad about its size.

Hell, he even makes maneuvering around their bellies into an excuse for touches and compliments.

And it's not just in the bedroom that he's good about Stiles's bod.

There's the time they're in Derek's kitchen and Stiles is making pancakes. It's only the second time he's slept over and he accidentally picked out one of Derek's smaller shirts to wear. It rides up every time Stiles moves, and he has to hastily tug it down whenever he catches Derek's eyes on him.

Finally, Derek says, "Don't."

"Don't what?" Stiles asks, trying to stretch the shirt as far as he can.

"Don't cover up." Derek touches the plop of Stiles's stretchmarked lower belly. "You don't need to."

Stiles pushes his hand away. "Dude, I appreciate the sentiment, but you don't need to see my fat hanging out."

The corner of Derek's mouth curves up. "Stiles, in case you didn't notice, I've got a little overhang here, too."

"Well, I don't see _it_ hanging out." Stiles takes in the much better-fitting shirt Derek's wearing. "You know, you could have at least given me the shirt that fits. I am the guest here."

Derek toys with the hem of Stiles's shirt, twisting it between his thick fingers. "I'll keep that in mind."

It probably is for the best, though, that Derek isn't the one with his gut hanging out. Derek might be totally blasé about Stiles's chub, but Derek's doughy underbelly is still a sight that makes Stiles flush and look away. Like a peek at something he shouldn't be seeing.

Stiles tries again, fruitlessly, to tug the shirt down. "Does this one even fit _you_?"

There's no way Stiles is actually the bigger of the two of them, is there?

"Probably not," Derek admits. "Put on a few since the last time I tried it on."

Stiles tries to ignore an odd squirmy feeling at the idea of Derek gaining weight. It's not like he hadn't noticed the difference from his profile pics, anyways. 

Mustering his indignation instead, he sniffs, "Well, you shouldn't still keep it in your drawer, then. Some poor guy will try to wear it and it'll make him feel fat."

"I'll find you a bigger one next time. But, for the record —"

"Yes?" Stiles interrupts, suspicious.

"I like how it fits you." Derek strokes a thumb over Stiles's still-bared lower belly. 

Stiles rolls his eyes and turns back to the pancakes, tugging the shirt down one last time.

And then there's how Stiles keeps ending up shirtless. It's happening more and more often lately.

"Careful, I'm going to start thinking flabby guts and manboobs turn you on," Stiles warns Derek one day.

Derek pauses in the middle of stripping off Stiles's shirt. "They do."

"Dude, shut up."

But Derek's a visual guy, it turns out, and it's not actually a lie. Naked guys turn him on.

And, okay, _relatable_. But naked's never been Stiles's most flattering look. He hadn't thought ending his year-long dry spell would involve so much nudity.

But it turns out that Derek isn't one of those people who say they don't care about some extra weight but then they actually do. The kind of person who ends up in bed with a hot guy but then gets embarrassed about touching their chub. Who gets flustered sometimes just looking at that chub...

And, yes, Stiles knows that's himself he's describing. And that he's a total hypocrite. But he should be given a bit of a break. It's obvious that he's not the first fat guy Derek's been with. Stiles just needs a little more time to adjust.

But Derek is the kind of guy who says he doesn't care about some extra weight and then just proceeds to... not care.

Just like it says on the tin.

It's kind of a lot to get used to. But the hard evidence, so to speak, is difficult to deny.

And Stiles can admit it's a bit of a power rush knowing that he can step out of the shower, big flabby gut hanging over his towel, and still turn on a hot guy.

And then one night, Derek is tracing his fingers over Stiles's stomach in the glow of Netflix.

They're halfway through a binge of a new sci-fi series, and Stiles is more than halfway through his bowl of extra-buttered popcorn, when he suddenly realizes that the patterns Derek's tracing on his midsection aren't entirely random.

Stiles shoves the popcorn bowl aside on the bed and wraps a defensive arm around his stomach. "They're from my last breakup."

Derek glances up.

"I mean, not _all_ of them," Stiles says. "But the break-up weight came on really fast last year and—"

"Stiles," Derek stops him. "You don't have to explain. I know what it's like to put on a few more than you meant to."

"Dude, you totally do not. We're the same size and you only have, like, two stretchmarks." Stiles props up on an elbow to point them out. But Derek's belly is rounded against his side and Stiles can't even find them from this angle. "Is this like the double-chin thing? You have enough beard to cover up a double-chin, but you decided to _also_ have a perfect jawline? Some of us could have put that facial hair to good use, you know."

Derek frowns. "What?"

"It doesn't even make sense, anyways." Stiles gestures widely, and narrowly misses knocking over the popcorn. "Have you seen how flabby I am? I should have _fewer_ stretchmarks, not more."

"Why are we talking about stretchmarks?"

"Because you just spent the last two-and-a-half episodes touching mine!"

Derek glances down at Stiles's middle. "So?"

Stiles groans. "Derek—"

"You have a really nice stomach."

"Oh my god." Stiles flops back on the bed, rubbing his eyes. He blindly throws a handful of popcorn at Derek. "You don't just compliment people on their _belly fat_."

"You know I think it looks good on you." He adds, "Your chin looks good, too."

"... _or their double chins._ Dude. Did no one ever teach you any manners?"

Stiles can practically hear Derek's shrug. And then he can actually hear him munching on the popcorn that was just thrown at him. He rolls his eyes behind his hands.


End file.
